


Roll of the Dice

by chantipede



Category: A.C.E (Beat Interactive Band)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Blood and Gore, Cyberpunk, Cyborgs, Far Future, Gambling, Guns, M/M, Mutants, Pickpockets, Polyamory, Superpowers, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28781856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantipede/pseuds/chantipede
Summary: They dance between Byeongkwan's fingers, the royal colour of his criminal success, made from a priceless resource able to ignite his veins with blue and yet he bets each die like he reigns luck itself.Little does he know the odds of destiny had already double-crossed him the second he got his hands on those dice, and maybe even before then. It's only a matter of time, now— that and the toss-up of a good scene. Minor casualties aside.
Relationships: Everyone/Everyone, Kang Yuchan | Chan/Kim Byeongkwan, Kim Byeongkwan/Kim Sehyoon | Wow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Roll of the Dice

**Author's Note:**

> this will be part of a series, and i'm already well into part 2 but i'm doing a lot of polishing with all the world building. hope it'll be fun!

The market roars with a blustering unspokenness— glowing streets full of musing bodies, food sizzling behind each stand, and voices negotiating, each over the other.

Byeongkwan listens for something else.

Beyond the words, between the changing aisles, beneath the sound of life, he knots through the crowd, eyes sated in front to blend in handsomely.

It’s unlikely here but he hears it. Follows it into his afternoon. A barely-there ringing faster than the human ear can detect, but even with decent equipment it would be difficult to focus on, the pattern of the wave too complicated and flushed out. But Byeongkwan has a talent for that.

He narrows in, scooting towards a stand, a bit unexpected of his revealed target. Really, it’s barely legal to be just sold up front, common folk having no use for it unactivated, but Byeongkwan finds a woman stood behind an array of machine parts, polished metals, and—  _ bingo. _

Perched on the back shelf, producing a faint glare of blue and carved into fancy shapes for selling:  _ royal sapphire. _

To normal people, it’s a battery, used sparingly due to rareness and price, though by far the most efficient mineral for the job. But to people like Byeongkwan, it’s a prize on a silver platter, and winning it is almost too easy.

“Can I get you something?” It’s said to the person in front of the stand. Byeongkwan scans for cameras a good distance away while hovering his hand over a display of food absently.

The man, head leaned over the counter and heel balancing him to the side, seems to loom over his options. He wears a hanbok over his shoulders and his hair tied into a bun from what Byeongkwan can see from behind. “What’s best for a handmotor fix?”

“Oh definitely these,” she gestures to the gear on the right which Byeongkwan can vaguely distinguish as common tech and scrap parts. “Know what’s wrong with it?”

“Power source broke, I think. My friend said to get him a replacement, the old one ran out too quick.”

She shows the selection of batteries, distracting them both while Byeongkwan makes his way around. It’s a little tricky here, in plain sight. Too many eyes looming around, but there’s always space for an opening, and he’s feeling lucky, albeit desperate.

“But if you want something better,” just as he’s about to break for it, she takes the last few pieces of royal sapphire from the shelf, and Byeongkwan finds himself in an awkward position.

“Isn’t that expensive?”

“For a fancy young lad like yourself?”

“I wouldn’t flatter so far.”

This just got trickier. They make the transaction, the man dropping the cubes royal sapphire into a bag slung around his shousidelder, and Byeongkwan watches him walk away, thanking the lady and swinging his clothes behind, concealing the bag. 

So, change of plans.

Byeongkwan didn’t want to resort to this, risk heavy in the sea of eyes, but he was so close. Besides, more than the precious sapphire, it’s the rush that he’s here for.

He trails close behind, fidgeting his hands under his sleeves, blood pulsing faintly in his ears. It’s simple work to get into, but in a crowd full of unknowing humans, it fills him with unattained nervousness— and a little bit of amusement. The game of going unseen that he’s been playing all of his life.

Eyes on that black and gold patterned hanbok swaying through the crowd, Byeongkwan makes his way ahead to catch the man’s face. He’s older than Byeongkwan, obviously, blonde bangs framing sad eyes that look distractedly to his feet, uncaring of the people nudging his sides. His bag is mostly tucked under his frame, but it swings ahead in intervals of seconds more than enough— for Byeongkwan’s speed, that is. His chance.

Pickpocketing is an art in crowds like this. It’s easier depending on the chase ahead, but that’s not an option today, eyes met with too many witnesses. Eyes of those suspicious of Byeongkwan’s kind.

Simply, he walks on the side ahead, now memorizing the man’s footsteps. Close behind patters a delicate  _ one, two, _ where Byeongkwan’s senses surpass that of machines as well. The man’s voice is faint in the sound of his breath too, like listening to a distant whisper, along with the clang of his clothes and the dangle of the strings around his hair. The buzz of the gemstones in his bag. Byeongkwan has every detail located like eyes on the back of his head.

And then— an opening. The man cranes his head to the left, right arm raised to push back his hair, and the bag swings just an extra inch in front of him. It’s accomplished in a split second— Byeongkwan’s fingers slipping in, confirming that familiar texture singing loud in his ear, and then he’s a dozen meters away.

“Junhee!”

The man had turned to call to someone, but Byeongkwan’s already sprinting out of the market, more with adrenaline and less with escape. He weaves the streets under glowing neon, the sky painted chrimson with sunset and smog. Past the rage of the wind in his ears, he listens for the corners that buzz with people, vehicles, or danger. It’s here he finds solace, in a simple spin of avoidance and loneliness with his success. He pulls the gems out of his pocket, tossing them in the air and excitedly flipping open his wristwatch. There’s a gentle slosh of shallow puddles against his boots and the rumble of air purifiers in the apartments above, but he’ll have no trouble listening to the phone ring.

“Hey hyung i got you someth—”

“Where are you?” Sehyoon’s voice is low with nerves.

“Huh?”

Byeongkwan hears the faintest voice on the other end about someone running away until Sehyoon covers the mic. Byeongkwan stops in his tracks, a bit afraid to ask.

“Hyung? What was that?”

There's silence for another while, and then the mic getting muffled with movement. He tries to listen to what’s happening through the low speaker signal, but then Sehyoon speaks again, much more hushed.

“Gotta go. Just tell me where you are.”

Sehyoon messes with inner crime, Byeongkwan knows that much and doesn’t quite blame him, but Sehyoon stopped letting him in on it ages ago. It leads Byeongkwan here on his own until late.

“A few blocks down the flea market. Why?”

“I see…” Sehyoon takes a moment to think and Byeongkwan considers, always letting him do his own thing, but still listens to the sound. Just for a second, there had been the mumble of a bass. “Just stay there then.”

“Why?”

“Don’t come home tonight. Taking care of something.”

Byeongkwan hesitates on a question but the phone buzzes with rejection. And he could—  _ could _ sniff out the sound, it’s in his right and power, but instead he treads on.

It’s not a problem, really, just, he hasn’t seen Sehyoon all week. Gone on his ‘appointments’ for hell knows what. Byeongkwan could entertain the thought, always full of hints and proof of what Sehyoon’s doing, who he’s after, but he respects his hyung. His hyper awareness is a gift not to be abused, or so Sehyoon tells him, despite using every ounce of his own power behind Byeongkwan’s back.

And maybe he’s a little scared— of his dangerous pastimes or of Sehyoon himself, he’s unsure, but Byeongkwan doesn’t need sleep anyway, more than in the literal sense. More than the roof over their heads they supposedly share, where he’s used to lying around for Sehyoon’s return.

It’s been twenty-four years since they shared a family after all.

Back in the 2190s, fertility dropped drastically. It’s still low now, but it started with a scare: a widespread mutation that lasted over three years, doing more than wiping out the new generation.

‘Generation of Hell,’ they named it, but it started out slow. Along with the great struggle to even bear a child, new parents started to notice some oddities. How quickly they opened their eyes. How fast their hair grew. How they didn’t need to eat.

It started to scare the public. Something like thousands of failed abortions. Something like an epidemic where children were the disease, and of course, the government took every measure to control it.

Byeongkwan doesn’t like to think about it, the mess of corruption in the healthcare system, vaccines that caused temporary infertility, and… let’s just say a lot of new lives lost. He just knows that his mother didn’t know how she even  _ got _ pregnant. Conceived out of the blue like a stork with a bag hidden in a basement. Byeongkwan was in the middle of an underground generation, and Sehyoon was a lucky earlyborn with a secret.

What led them here was simply part of their hiding. Even after science came through, they needed to travel under the radar, Byeongkwan to act a few years younger. Scramble for change to keep the house up and body running. It helps that they don’t have normal bodily functions. No real need for eating or sleeping tosses out the need for a decent property. The gift of acute senses helps too.

And that leads Byeongkwan out here, hundreds of miles away from the last of his bloodline, sapphire rolling between his fingers. Royal sapphire— the material that’s like ambrosia to mutants like him, full of unleashed power just waiting in the palm of his hand. They’re carved in the shape of dice, he notices, and laughs about the lady appearing too innocent for illegal games. It gives him an idea.

  
  
  


“You play?”

Byeongkwan cranes his neck, eyebrow poking up as if he’d not just been waiting for this moment. Leaning against the cracked concrete wall, he meets a young man, probably the age that Byeongkwan pretends to be, with a red shaggy bowl cut and a red bandana tucked between the locks. In fact, he’s dressed in red from head to toe, save for the black vinyl boots with red laces.

“Play what?”

The stranger crouches down, bright eyes meeting Byeongkwan’s, and he notices red corneas shaped like hearts— probably implants. The kind only the richest can afford, and the perfect subject for Byeongkwan’s experiment.

“Royals, right? What else you gonna do with a bunch of sapphire dice?”

It’s basically a much more illegal game of street poker. Byeongkwan could spare a refresh in his technique, spending the past half-hour practicing his throws. First, he made a few different starting positions, and then the best way to feint it. It had felt silly at first, sitting around the street with nothing better to do, but one trick after the other, he had it locked down in muscle memory.

“Not afraid of luck?”

The stranger sits himself properly, crossing his legs and smoothing his fingers over the rips of his pants. “As long as those are real. Care to jog a runner’s memory?”

The thing about royals is that it’s impossible to cheat— supposedly, because the properties of unactivated sapphire and the shape of each die make it entirely based on luck and technique— unless you have a third eye like Byeongkwan’s.

After an explanation and counterfeit check, the stranger brings the dice back to Byeongkwan’s palm. He has a choker of spikes, glinting like real silver, and Byeongkwan absently feels like tugging at it.

“Wanna place bets?” Byeongkwan hides half of his smile, knowing it wouldn’t be fun without a gamble.

The stranger pulls a pensive frown, humming to himself. “Maybe something small, since it’s my first.”

Byeongkwan nods.

“A million won,” the stranger says.

Byeongkwan snorts through his nose. “Don’t know what you’re doing on these streets with money like  _ that, _ but I got no cash.”

“How about the dice?” The stranger pulls back his sleeves, revealing dark scars that ridge the skin of another implant, lining from beneath the cuff down to his right wrist. Just how cyborg is this kid? “One million could buy two gems like that. But I go first.”

Byeongkwan plants his hands on his knees, looking right into those fancy heart eyes. It’s obnoxious in a way, but at that genuine smirk he couldn’t be more thrilled.

“If that’s what you want.”

“Queen of spades,” the redhead says, no hesitation as if ceasing the dare of sport.

The game goes quickly like that, and Byeongkwan chooses to win narrowly to egg him on. Even as the stranger lays down each bill, there’s a smile on his face.

“Two million. For one.”

“Is it game over if I lose my die?” Byeongkwan is fond with amusement. He roles sparingly again, cackling when the stranger practically loses on his own, but he doesn’t look like giving up. It’s over in a minute, and with a split decision, Byeongkwan stops the young man from reaching into his pocket— Byeongkwan’s no stranger to this kind of gamble either. 

“How ‘bout all these dice,” Byeongkwan leans back, taunting smugly for more, “for that choker.”

It’s barely a  _ bet, _ having earned more than the price of these five with plenty more hidden in his pocket.

The redhead bites his lip. “This thing?”

Byeongkwan nods and watches him sit up, eyes not leaving the gems of blue scattered onto the pavement. His makeup is smudged, but there’s a certain composure to him that never slips. With hands crossed under his arms and tongue darting out between his teeth, he motions his head in an angle of challenge.

The stranger’s expression grows twice as bright. “Ace of hearts.” A cocky move.

Byeongkwan picks up the dice, unscratched by the game, and rolls. He decides to give the stranger the first round, and then his skepticism grows with regret, because— silent smile never leaving the stranger’s face, the man aces it. Every. Single. Time.

“You’re fun.”

Byeongkwan admits defeat, laying the dice out like cards. “And a wild first-timer you are.”

The stranger chuckles finally, like holding in a breath. “‘Til the end.”

The stranger gets up, slipping his prize into his pocket and tucking a finger between his neck and the choker. Byeongkwan may have lost, but he earned himself three million won for half his stash, along with plenty of stolen smiles.

“If you want your prize back, I’m in the gas club tonight. A few blocks down from here.”

Byeongkwan laughs at his lap as the young man walks into the night, stranger to the end. It leaves him feeling a bit light, like a dose of the sapphire had dissolved through his skin.

  
  
  


Pulsing beats and drunken laughter, Byeongkwan can count the layers of cash in his pocket like the lines of light that reflect vertically down the street. It’s always a little damp in this part of town, and it does something to make the noises more sticky. More lucid.

Byeongkwan’s on his fifteenth challenger of the night, no longer feigning ignorance, having moved onto the busier streets where he has more of an audience. He’s picked up quite the penny, losing a bit every now and then to give them a kick of excitement. Of luck and the belief of it.

It’s insane, but only for tonight, he tells himself, when he has no home to return to but the whir of the hour. So he pays homage right here, under commercial lighting and the buzz of victory. Maybe he’ll get himself something nice and visit that club the stranger mentioned.

Sehyoon calls in the middle of a round, with a group of nightgoers rounded up above him, and Byeongkwan jerks the twist of his wrist in the air, losing on accident. He opens it quick as he can, volume almost silent so that only he can tune in.

“You still there?”

Byeongkwan makes a polite frown at the loss and answers Sehyoon like he’s sighing to himself. “Yeah.”

It’s very still on the other end, and he doesn’t let it ruin his focus again. “I had a buddy come check on you. You should be more careful who you see.”

Shouldn’t Sehyoon? No,  _ check on him, _ what’s that supposed to mean?

“Just watch out on those streets. Too many people roaming around. The kind that want us dead.”

It feels like Sehyoon’s problems are becoming Byeongkwan’s, and he’s been doing fine on his own. Too many warnings with too little explanation, so why tell him now? Why include him ever?

“Bye!” He says to the group, waving, but hopes Sehyoon hears it. He watches them walk off with a bit too much of his money, congratulating each other in passing, but at least he still has his dice.

Breath tight in his throat, he holds up the mic on his wrist. Whether to speak his mind or finally ask where Sehyoon is, he hasn’t decided, but the sound of the line cuts off into a buzz, and down his shoulders go.

It’s past midnight when a trio corners him loosely, steps heavy as if they weigh tenfold their appearance, and there's a low sound of rubbing metals that Byeongkwan can’t quite pinpoint. He’s not exactly sure when they cut around the corner to watch, too preoccupied in the earlier games; he just knows they're the only ones left within the next two or three surrounding blocks, the last echo of laughter growing further from his senses.

One sits in front of him like they’re here to play, and the least Byeongkwan can do is take advantage of the game.

The man’s skin is paneled with implants from his scalp to the unfolded collar of his shirt. Tossing his white braided hair to the side, he gives off a bored confidence that takes winning off Byeongkwan’s mind, if just for a moment. The skin around his silver glowing eyes is layered with creases and stretch marks, like the surgery had cost more pain than what it was worth.

“Like what you see?”

Byeongkwan is a little disgusted at the obvious flaunt of implants, and the guys behind him put on no less of a show with their sleeveless shirts and the indiscreet stench of metal like an old car. But like the red stranger from before, it’s the show of wealth that Byeongkwan’s into.

“What’s your wager?” Byeongkwan makes for the same amount of nonchalance, twirling a die between four fingers, already in his rhythm. That is, until an arm is slammed up in front of him. 

A real arm, for a cyborg, detached at the shoulder. The metal is freshly painted between sheets of fake skin, andhe design around the joints looks complicated and pricy. It rolls on the wooden slab that Byeongkwan had been using as a table. Byeongkwan swallows.

The stranger hangs his head to the side. “Those dice mean nothing to me.” And they shouldn’t. Byeongkwan couldn’t make half this arm’s worth if he played all year. But the arm is almost nothing to a talented hand like himself either. He lets out a snort.

“Cocky, are we?” Says the stranger.

Byeongkwan clears his expression as the two beside the man come forward, and Byeongkwan can already tell that they’re heavier, their expressions blank, their breaths near silent to even Byeongkwan’s heightened awareness.

“You’re after cash, then?” A simple taunt, but Byeongkwan’s voice grows a bit shaky to his own ears.

The stranger leans low on his elbows to look square with Byeongkwan, more than enough proximity to smell the iron in his breath. It’s a bit clammy now, and it feels like the two beside them get closer too. Sehyoon’s words echo in Byeongkwan’s ears and he grows stiff in the spine. “How ‘bout this ol’ arm,” the man raises it, gaze leading up to the angle he points its limp metal fingers, “for yours.”

It’s a second too late for Byeongkwan to realize what this is, too late to raise his guard again. He knows he’d counted three heartbeats, but they all thrum within the man in front of him, pointing the finger of the robot arm to Byeongkwan’s hand around the die. He’s too late to retreat because the two others have their hold around Byeongkwan’s elbows, solid and bruising. His breath is pulled back as he watches the man pick up the five dice on the table, useless to kick out.

“Can’t do much without your dog treats, I’d assume” he smiles at the dice, as if admiring the blue, before crushing them to dust in his palms, and the colour fades to an ashy black.

Byeongkwan had been caught twice in his life. The first, with Sehyoon to help him out, and the second, Byeongkwan mazed away with his own power. Sehyoon always told him that his words were the worst thing they could take from him, so he swallows them down, lip bit back as he tries to pull from their grip, but it immediately grows a million times worse. The hands that earn him every prize and every steal are pinned and pulled between metal, an immovable force against the skin. For a second he sees black, unable to hold back his scream as thunder shoots up to his brain.

“Did they break it? A pity.”

The mistake is the only sign that they have an ounce of human flaw in their systems, but it’s still to Byeongkwan’s loss. His right arm throbs with the most attention as he struggles to balance on his two feet. He registers the stranger crush the robot arm on the ground beneath his shoe, metal bending and snapping like butter.

“Might as well make it even.” He snickers like it were worthless. 

Byeongkwan holds himself up just to ease the pain on his right, and he kind of wants to cry because this  _ sucks, _ but the man steps closer, over the robot arm just to crush it again, and gets his smelly iron fingers under Byeongkwan’s chin.

“Fix you up with a new chip, and you’d make a fancy little mutt.”

He snickers at the visible ripple through Byeongkwan’s shoulders at the threat.  _ Mutt— _ It’s short for mutant, which Byeongkwan is, but the kind that the government has on a leash. The kind that threaten to break his arms further, void of their remaining human traits. Byeongkwan spits at the man’s face.

“Unfortunate.” He puts his shoe against Byeongkwan’s chest, pushing him to the ground, threatening to crush his ribs like the useless scrap metals beside him. “I have somewhere to be but it was fun seeing you. Too bad we couldn’t have time to play.”

He picks up Byeongkwan’s wrist with a solid fist and Byeongkwan has no choice but to cry out when it feels like a thousand needles seeping through. His vision blurs along with the pressure on his chest forcing the air from his lungs, and the more he tries to blink open, the more he only takes in what he doesn’t want. The sting is dizzying. Overwhelming.

When his senses come through they’re already gone but he can’t see beyond this alley they left him in. He manages to make his left fingers budge, lifting them over his eyes and then to his right arm to feel for damage. The sting of the needles is still there like they’ve made home in his broken limb, and most of the struggle is from breathing in the night air. He throws off his watch, crumpled useless to the center, with a passing thought if Sehyoon tried to call him, but god this night has gotten really annoying, he doesn’t want to think.

Funny enough, his broken arm looks normal under the loose coat sleeve, and he decides to  _ very carefully _ use his undershirt to loop up a brace. It looks stupid but it’s the least of his worries, and he could still argue the jacket overshadows his new fit. Now he just needs to spend the rest of his night without fucking up, and staying here in the cold late streets with footsteps around the corner is a bad idwa.

Just look normal. Enough time has passed that he shouldn’t bump into the same faces again with any problems, other than the trio who apparently had other plans, but there’s one person Byeongkwan doesn’t mind meeting right now. With an injury like this, he could use a piece of the sapphire back.

He knocks around his feet, a little wobbly with a throbbing in his ears that makes it hard to sense very far, but he knows where the gas club is. The streets are a little more drunken this late that it shouldn’t look odd if he slips in with a wobble. Maybe appearing vulnerable and innocent could be taken to his advantage.

He’d come to the gas club once with Sehyoon, sometime ages ago, and wished he’d stayed for longer because of the whole nature of it. The name comes from the thick smoke and colourful lights, filling the air to the roof like a murky fishtank. Its advantage once was to avoid cameras and clear vision, but it was made fun, to give anonymity to the space. On any other given day, he’d have a clear scope of the area, but his head throbs in a loop. He supposes it catches a feel of the fun.

The way he finds the young man is easy when he could smell the sapphire a mile away. Whatever the red-dressed boy was doing, he’s distracted by Byeongkwan already, making eye-contact through the smoke.

“Hey redhead.” Byeongkwan’s own voice is muddy in his head.

“Is that how you see me?” The colours that drape over his shoulders go violet beneath the lights, reflecting pink hues against the bottom of his face, but the twisting silhouette in Byeongkwan’s hazed mind makes him sure. That and the sweetly laced reply. He doesn’t spare a glance at Byeongkwan’s new getup, but that shouldn’t matter right now. “Just Red is fine. I could almost mistake you for a hellchild.”

“I get that a lot.” It’s not threatening, almost a daring compliment. Faking his age his whole life has made him almost forget it. “I could almost mistake you for too young to be here.”

_ Red _ laughs, and Byeongkwan leans against the wall to get a better feel of the place with his body against a solid surface.

What he finds is—? Absolutely ridiculous at this point. How could they have followed him here?

But they’re police dogs, of course, constantly pumped with sapphire. Who knows what kind of superhuman power they’re trained with. The two pairs of steps are heavy as they knock through the doors.

“Going already?” Red touches Byeongkwan’s loose elbow and pulls him along, further into the club. Not the conundrum he was expecting, but Byeongkwan could decide right here to feign human ignorance. The veil of smoke and sound is his element to roam.

With a whiff of the pungent air into his lungs, he waves through it and takes the outstretched hand to lace his fingers neatly. Getting pulled through the jungle of smoke and bodies, it’s easier to scope as he walks along, like the hand in his helps hold his head over his shoulders. The vicinity is tall with several open sections and an indoor pool in the center. Bodies cluster along the walls, atop stairs, around the edge of the pool, and some at the mini-bar nearby, but Byeongkwan is brought away from it all where the conversations can feel more apart from their own. 

There’s a fish tank adorning this corner of the club, tall with dozens of gallons filled up to the ceiling. It holds nothing more than a swarm of jellyfish, doing not much else than provide fancy lighting, but Byeongkwan hadn’t noticed the creatures before, with their clusters of nerves darting adrift. He makes more of an effort to listen to the two that step into the front of the crowd before listening to the voice ahead of him.

“I told you to wait over there.” There’s a new person, hair waved back in a colour that Byeongkwan’s eyes can’t understand under these lights, and the shadows of smoke do more to conceal the clothes that hug at his waist. He gives Byeongkwan a weird side eye.

“It’s okay,” says Red, and with Byeongkwan’s hand still held behind him, he leans forward to kiss the man’s cheek. It flusters Byeongkwan as the two exchange looks with no more words to eavesdrop. Byeongkwan doesn’t recognize the other man’s voice since entering the club but his concentration’s still a little muddy. Red sees it not to matter though, waving the other off as he wanders away from their visual peripheral. “See you.”

“Who’s that?” Byeongkwan asks, and Red turns to the beat of the bass.

“A bad guy, depending on who you’re with,” Red has a lot of smiles to offer, “but if you’re with me, a good guy.”

“You’re vague.”

“So’re you,” Red moves a step further into the smoke. “How’d a kid on the street get so good at royals?”

The music could drown out his voice if not for Byeongkwan’s super-hearing. As Byeongkwan pays attention to the side, where the newest stranger had walked off to the same direction as the mutts, he cocks an eyebrow at the scene in front of him. It’s a good cover, honestly, like he could take his time to leave if he really felt like it.

“You could teach me a move when that arm is better,” the redhead continues.

Byeongkwan feels the opening where his jacket hangs loose, slightly guarded behind the sheet of smoke as the room changes to red. “What are you insinuating?”

Red leans a good amount into Byeongkwan’s space, a nose taller and an arm over Byeongkwan’s shoulder. He continues his thought like Byeongkwan’s question meant nothing. “And I could share with you an ace trick of my own,” his breath is sharp with the sound,  _ “hellchild.” _

Byeongkwan’s head hits the back, frozen at those creepy heart-shaped corneas that seem to pull out his soul, but they remain warm with a light affection, as if urging Byeongkwan to stay here. The laugh that follows after drifts Byeongkwan into another confusion.

Byeongkwan steps back, heel of his hand meeting the cold glass of the fishtank. He has to rethink if he can look after himself, surrounded by possibly another mutant or two, but he considers the insinuation of a ‘bad side’ and sinks back into his boots.

“Have you ever been to a sting pool?” Red reaches his arm higher above Byeongkwan’s shoulder, and Byeongkwan shifts around his focus, inhaling the spaciousness, the voices, which figures dance about and which ones stand stiff. The man that just left them approaches another few, but it’s foggy, like something still holds Byeongkwan back. He swears, if this is a distraction—

“They say one hit and you’re under the moon. Everything is slow and stop.”

Byeongkwan can just barely differentiate them; the voices on the other end are still groggy, punched out with the pounds of the bass.

Red drops his arm and shoots a look behind himself to where Byeongkwan’s attention is screwed. “You can leave,” but he plays a frown with the reverse effect.

And Byeongkwan didn’t come here for trouble— another pickpocket at most— but to get more involved—

_ You should be more careful who you see. _

Byeongkwan grits his teeth.

“Like I can now.” Byeongkwan can identify that voice from miles away, but he didn’t expect to hear it here.

Red goes quiet, cocking an eyebrow, and what the hell is going on.

Byeongkwan inhales for a moment, imagining he didn’t hear it.

“Why are they here…” —Sehyoon’s whisper is unmistakable from way across the room, and the heavy footsteps walk in the same direction. Is this what they’re here for?

Byeongkwan slips his fingers beneath the spiked choker, pulling Red to eye level, and he doesn’t care if his other arm’s broken. “What do you know?”

The young man shifts his smirk a bit. “Nothing,” a pause. “Just play it safe.”

A gunshot rings hidden under the music.

“I think they’re done joking around.”

“Don’t go over there.” Red darts his eyes to the side for a second, weight pulling back as Byeongkwan tightens his grip.

Byeongkwan doesn’t give a shit at this point. He leads them back against the fishtank, listening. There’s a handful of movements on the other side, someone jumping up, lighter step clouded by the heavy jostles around. He can’t identify Sehyoon, and would feel clearer if he just got a bit closer—

He hears the movement in a split second. A gun cocked, pointed, and he pulls the both of them down.

The bullet barely singes the hair on his head.

Byeongkwan’s— never been shot at before. Doesn’t know how the shooter spotted them, just that they’re taking a curious step in the direction of the shattered hole in the fishtank. Water sprays at their feet.

“Well that’s not good.”

“Huh!?”

“I’ll be taking these.” The redhead pushes up from underneath, a hurried movement and no less shaky. He reaches into Byeongkwan’s pocket— the five dice that Byeongkwan had swapped for his broken watch, and throws them away with the full force of his body, barely leaving a trail in the smoke. With five small splashes, they disappear from Byeongkwan’s radar.

“You knew I took them?”

“They can sniff out the sapphire.” It doesn’t answer Byeongkwan’s question. 

“I  _ needed those— _ ugh.”

His arm will have to wait. Byeongkwan reluctantly lets the other lead them away, running up to the entrance passing people who seem to be gathering what’s wrong. He’s adamant to follow until he realizes the rumble of much,  _ much _ more heavy footsteps running up the street outside in their direction.

A sharp  _ clang _ rings against the blaring shuffle of the speakers.

“He— _ hey wait!” _

Byeongkwan is running to the only direction he knows. He won’t see it, even as the smoke clears around each kick of movement. A blade slices through the opening, flinging someone across the room, sparks of metal flashing a brighter light, but it doesn’t help. Byeongkwan listens for it, the pattern of breaths beyond the tells of light, shaping into two hidden figures. One wielding a sword, jangling with the swing of their hanbok and hair ties, and the other behind them, eyes closed with a focused breath.

Byeongkwan’s ability is the only one that can see beyond Sehyoon’s, whose talent bends light in complex structures of smoke and mirrors. Byeongkwan listens to every movement as the swordsman in front of Sehyoon charges at a cyborg beast that’s been altered beyond human recognition and primed for combat against its own kind, but behind the cloak of Sehyoon’s will, the swordsman swings fearlessly. 

Byeongkwan has never seen the ability charged to this extent. He knows that Sehyoon, powered by enough royal sapphire, could probably hide a sea if he wanted to, but to use it to draw attention in with moving combat to defend, they make a two-man-army.

_ His _ Sehyoon, his family after all their years in hiding together doing something like this—

“Byeongkwan—”

Suddenly he’s pulled underwater.

The abrupt submergence knocks out his breath, and he has to remember to hold it in, to not panic in shock. Sehyoon’s voice echos in his head but it fades to nothing but a murky beat. The cold is overbearing, filtering through and pulling his clothes from against his skin, and he’ll survive, but he can’t see. Underwater is the only place he can’t see.

Sehyoon is up there. He pushes up with all the strength in his legs and the painful thrust of his right shoulder. He tries to stop from sinking, to go towards the flashing colours of light that make it this deep into the pool. It’s hard to drown with mutant lungs like his but he’s broken up and powerless underwater, gravity draining the strength from his limbs. His arm falls free of the sling, flailing to his side and shooting up pain, and he’s dizzy with all this confusion, but he just wants to make it home safe. Safe with Sehyoon.

There’s a grip around his ankle and he doesn’t care what it is, he hates every second of it, letting muffled cries bubble up towards the surface. Sehyoon did everything to make him not get caught up in this mess and here he is, arm practically given out, surrounded at the surface by bloodthirsty cyborg mutants, and sinking more than swimming away.

And then he feels something warm around his left wrist, pulling him just a bit further beneath, and another set of fingers closing his left palm around a stone. Byeongkwan opens his eyes and is met with new ones, hair flowing behind the man’s face, now visibly deep blue. The man’s white blouse billows around with the movements of his arms as he swims up, bringing Byeongkwan’s two hands together and for a second he forgets the pain. Byeongkwan recognizes him as the one Red had spoken to briefly a moment ago, and then hears a hollowed voice in his head.

_ Activate it. _

Blinking blurriness at the stone in his hand, he finds his fingers around a single blue die. He looks up to the man who gives an encouraging nod, and Byeongkwan closes his hands into a prayer. He sinks deeper into the pool, focusing everything on the growing warmth against his palms and the warmth that he lends back to it.

Around him… hundreds of jellyfish swarm in purple specs around the pool, which appears much more like a twenty-metre tank. They propel upwards like hundreds of steady heartbeats, oblivious to the chaos above. Byeongkwan’s always been afraid of water which robs him of his aerial vision, but now charged with sapphire, each detail of the glowing bodies of nerves reacting to his descent, each movement amongst hundreds creates an image sharp as crystal.

The ringing in his ears subsides and the movement of his arms grows freer, and as he watches the gem shatter into nothing, he thrusts himself towards the surface.

A wave crashes over him, and it’s something so lucid, so vibrant with noise and texture, he’s aware of everything again. 


End file.
